I'm sure that my memories of Bangalore, India, have no real bearing on the Bangalore of today. When I was there, Bangalore was bustling with people and noise and animals and it probably still is. However, the Bangalore I remember doesn't exist anymore. The Bangalore I remember exists in my 4-years-ago recollection. It is a visual montage that contains things as vastly different as the Christ College under-the-tree spot, whimples of the nuns in our hostel, Black Sabbath riffs, and the crowded Sudhe Gunde marketplace.
I hear horns and cows and Fr. Saby's monotonous speeches. I feel the ink flow through my Parker Pen like blood as my classmates wrote line after line of Shakespearean sonnests: some funny, some sad, some desperately rhyming.
I smell warm chapatis in the mess hall, and the yellow curry that always made me gag. I hear the screech of the metal chairs on concrete floors and the too-cool-for-school slouch of the "last benchers," the heavy metal loving rebels that always sat at the back of the classrooms.
Being in Bangalore was a great experience for me but, don't get me wrong. It wasn't all "gulab jamun" and bollywood dance-a-thons. It was the first place I was physically attacked. It was the first place I felt my life threatened when someone threw a rock that shattered the bus window. It was the first place I was forced to commit civil disobedience.
Yet, I was happy.
I wonder now why I don't feel the same the happiness. I have reached a conclusion: my happiness was screwed.
In India, we used to say that all the time and I suppose it means just as it sounds. "Don't screw my happeniness" means "don't upset me." However, "don't upset me" simply doesn't have the "oomph" of "don't screw my happiness." It probably has a lot to do with the word "screw" which, in American slang, has "sex" written all over it which is perhaps why it has the "oomph."
The phrase appealed to me because it is quite possibly the worst thing someone could do to your happiness: fuck it up. What good is happiness when it's all fucked up? My happiness has lost it's innocence out here in the real world.
I want to write a book about Bangalore but the more I put it off the more I forget. Initially, I had hoped this book would get me out of the poverty that forces me to sleep on floor pillows arranged underneath my mom's 1970's beadspread. I'm hoped this book would sell millions and the catchphrase, "Don't screw my happiness" will make its grand debut on "Good Morning America".
Who am I kidding? I won't ever write beyond this paragraph and most of you have given up a few lines ago. But, then again, a little reverse psychology and subliminal propaganda never hurt anyone. :-)
